Iridescent
by carinims01
Summary: Merlin would do anything for Arthur. In turn, Arthur would do anything for Merlin. And when Morgana attacks Camelot, that very brotherhood is put to the ultimate test. With Morgana ruling and Merlin powerless to stop her, it's up to Arthur to save Camelot and his best friend. The only thing is, he's supposed to be dead. By Merlin's hand. Rated T for violence. Post 4x03. No slash.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

Hi there, guys! So I know it's been a while. I know I left this story with a horrible, terrible cliffhanger, but I'm want to get back into writing. Taking a story that is already partially written (several chapters are written, but as they were written so long ago, I want to rework them, including this one) and republish it. Updates might not be too steady, though, as I am dealing with a lot of stuff right now, but I really hope you guys like it. I'm sorry it was in hiatus for so long.

Quick note: the title of the fic is taken from Linkin Park's song "Iridescent".

Enjoy!

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_When you were standing in the wake of devastation_  
_When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown_  
_And with the cataclysm raining down_  
_Insides crying, "Save me now!"_  
_You were there, impossibly alone_

_Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?_  
_You build up hope, but failure's all you've known_  
_Remember all the sadness and frustration_  
_And let it go. Let it go_

—"Iridescent" by Linkin Park

* * *

Merlin jogged through the lower town, a tired, lopsided smile on his dirt smudged face. His hair was more tousled than usual, and his neckerchief was oddly askew. The bunch of fresh herbs clutched in his hand, however, made it worth it.

Several stall owners were setting up their stands, and the servant stopped by one to purchase some freshly baked bread and strawberries. He stuffed the loaf into the crook of his arm and kept his fingers tight round the basket of fruit. Breath smoking in the early morning air, Merlin rushed up the slight incline to the palace, smiling politely at everyone he passed.

The courtyard seemed to glow as he passed under the age-old portcullis. The alabaster tips of the battlements seemed to glitter with the rising sun; the gargoyles sparkled when the shards of precious light caught the hidden flecks of white drusy stone.

The servant smiled even brighter as he hopped up the main staircase, taking note of the intricate designs on the sides of the entrance. He turned the corner, his wrist brushing against the stone handrail as he climbed the next set of steps. Turning right, he nodded wearily to his fellow servants as he took the servant's passageways to Gaius' chambers, slipping out of the barely used passageways only feet from the place he'd called home for so long. Already, he could smell Gaius' infamous herbal tea brewing from within the physician's chambers. The door

s hinges squealed as he pushed it open, and Merlin ambled in, lifting his hand triumphantly to show off the herbs.

Gaius smiled broadly, his hair shining in the sunlight streaming in through the open window. "Thank you, my boy," he praised. Merlin set the bundle down on his worktable, setting out the loaf of bread and the strawberries too. "These'll do wonders for Dephry's cold. And strawberries! Wonderful."

Collapsing into his seat, Merlin ran his hand through his hair, yawning. "It wasn't easy to find, you know. You weren't too descriptive."

"Yes, I can see that by the dirt on your face," the physician replied cheekily. "You'd better get washed up before you wake Arthur."

The warlock tore off a hunk of bread, taking a large bit out of it and washing it down with some hot tea. Hastily, he stood up, skipping towards the wash bucket before splashing cold water on his face and drying it with a towel. "Speaking of, I'd better go."

The physician quirked his eyebrow in a way that only he could. "Did you get eat breakfast?"

"Gaius, I just—"

"A hunk of bread and one strawberry _does not _count as breakfast, _Merlin." _

"I'm going to be late! _Again!"_

Gaius eyed his nephew with affectionately. "When aren't you, exactly?"

The servant turned round just as he reached the door, his face scrunched up in thought. In the end, he released something sounding like "_Eh,"_ before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

Merlin skirted round the corner, picking up his pace as he entered a fairly long corridor. He could feel the sunlight warming his face as he jogged, smiling at passing servants and soldiers alike. As per usual, he slipped into the kitchens through one of the lesser used entrances, sliding easily past the bustling cooks and chefs and towards the back of the kitchen, where he knew the king's platter would be. His fingers curled around the edges and he picked it up, never stopping as he continued to the other side of the kitchens. Just as soon as he left, however, a firm grip on his arm halted his pace, nearly making everything on the platter fall off.

"Merlin!" Gwaine chimed. "Where're you going at this fine hour?"

"Fine hour?" the servant grinned. "It's barely morning. You're usually still unconscious this early."

Shrugging, the knight carefully picked off a grape from Arthur's platter, smirking when Merlin rolled his eyes. "Perce and I had early patrol, so I thought I may as well see what you're doing."

"As you know, Gwaine," he grinned, "I have a job, remember? And I have to take the plate you're eating off of to Arthur before he wakes up. You know how he is if he doesn't have his breakfast."

The knight grimaced before releasing a laugh. "Yes, I know. You'd better get there or he'll have your head before he has ours."

"Oh, thanks for the reminder," Merlin grinned, giving the knight a nod of farewell before skipping around the corner. He arrived at the king's chambers only moments later and, as usual, he never raised a hand to knock. He flung the door open dramatically, unsurprised that the thick curtains were still pulled closed from the night before, blocking out almost any light.

Shaking his head in amusement, the warlock carefully set the tray down, happy to enjoy whatever peace and quiet he could get before he had Arthur listing off his chores. Merlin yawned as he walked towards the windows, remembering just how early he'd had to rise in order to get the herbs for a little girl in the lower Town. Gaius said they were best picked in the wee hours of the morning, when the dew was still settling and the leaves were freshest.

Sunlight streamed in as he flung the heavy material aside. The servant had to step left and reach upwards, however, to get the other maroon strip of cloth. "Morning, Arthur. Time to get up." Merlin turned round, yawning, only to freeze mid-stretch. The blankets on the bed had been cast aside, thrown to the other half of the mattress, and the sheets were in massive disarray. But that wasn't a surprise; Arthur often had restless nights. No, what was surprising was that Arthur wasn't there _at all. _

"Arthur?"

The call echoed around the large room, and when no response was offered, Merlin walked back the way he came, looking round the many curves and corners, even in the antechamber, only to confirm that the king wasn't there.

And that was when his eyes glanced at Arthur's desk.

Before his friend went to bed, Merlin made sure to straighten up the desk as best he could so Arthur didn't have too much trouble finding things in the morning, and the servant distinctly remembered righting all the scrolls the night before.

Pursing his lips curiously, Merlin slowly walked over to the old desk, running his fingers along the carvings along the side. He fixed the jumbled scrolls easily, laying them side by side at the top, just like Arthur liked it, after putting the quill pen back into the inkwell. It was only after this was done that the warlock allowed his fidgeting fingers to pick up the folded parchment in the center of the desk. His mind first considered that it would be a list of chores for him, then considered that it was, instead, a list of things to pack for an upcoming hunting trip, but what he found was much, much worse, and much, much more extreme. Carefully, he read the words aloud, feeling each syllable on his tongue as his shaking fingers clutched the piece of parchment.

"_Dear Merlin,"_ he muttered, a knot already forming within his chest, "_Okay, so I'm sitting at my desk, and it's probably... about three in the morning. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even think of anything except..." _

He paused, forcing himself to look away from the paper and look into the room once more, if only to confirm that Arthur wasn't there. It felt like he was intruding on something so private, so secret. And, indeed, it was. "Oh, _please_ no..."

The servant read on: "_Merlin, I know. I know about your magic."_

No. Oh, God, no.

He _knew. _Emotions that Merlin couldn't even begin to fathom rushed through him faster than a speeding horse, the ones residing within his heart ranging from terror to relief all at once. He felt lightheaded; his throat felt like like it was burning. The pain in his chest... oh, God. What would he do now? Would he be executed? He didn't think so, but... Should he run? Would he be banished? After all the lies he's told, the things he's done behind his king's back...

"_I saw you save my life one week ago today in that bandit attack in the woods. Do you remember? His sword slipped out of his hand, and when I looked around, you turned away, but your eyes were still shaded with gold."_

How could he be so _stupid? _Unshed tears burned behind his eyes, but he forced himself to continue. Merlin forced himself to focus on every word; he just wanted to get it over with, but he had to know what Arthur knew before he could even _begin_ to sort out his own thoughts.

"_I didn't do anything because I was so confused. Father had taught me that everyone with magic was evil, but I already knew that he couldn't be right. Gaius had magic, didn't he? I mean, he doesn't use it anymore, but even Father said he had it once, and he's not evil. But Morgana is. Maybe that was the most confusing thing. She was good. I know she was. But then she learned magic."_

"I'm not like her, Arthur," he promised to an empty room.

"_What was I supposed to think? So I didn't say anything. I kept quiet and tried to reason it out because I knew that, magic or no, and no matter how long you've had it, you've always stood by me, you've always been there, you've always protected me, and you've always been my greatest friend."_

A single hot tear finally fell from Merlin's dark lashes. Arthur thought... At least he _wrote... _He wasn't meant to find this letter, surely. _But it had been left on the desk,_ he thought. Suddenly, more than anything, he wished his friend was there. He wished Arthur was there. Where _was_ he?

"_You probably don't trust me enough to tell me the truth, and I understand why. I really do. After everything you've seen here in Camelot. My father. And I am so sorry for any hurt I have caused you. I am truly, deeply sorry. I can't get that out of my mind either_—_what I must have done to you. I'm so sorry. And I hope to be able to apologize to you in person one day. You've hidden it... everything... so well. And I'm sorry that you've had to do that, too. I'll keep your secret, Merlin. I promise. I swear it on my life. I will wait until you tell me, and I will wait until you explain. I'm sure you certainly have a story to tell, you idiot. I promise. I just hope that day comes soon. Your brother, always, Arthur." _

The warlock actually found himself feeling nauseous and collapsed into Arthur's chair after allowing the letter to fall on the table. "Oh my god..." Merlin put his hand on his forehead, already feeling a headache on its way. The knot in his chest loosened as he forced himself to _breathe._ His whole body quivered like a taught arrow string; his magic _sung._ The two extremes just made his head pound all the more.

Arthur _knew._ For a _week_, he'd known now. And he hadn't sent guards to come get him, he hadn't had him arrested, no... He had... he had _accepted_ him _and_ his magic. And he understood. Maybe not all of it, or even most of it, but... but he'd apologized. Merlin didn't blame him for anything, really, but the fact that he'd apologized... Arthur rarey apologized. _Especially _to Merlin.

And he promised... Arthur had promised to keep his secret. His friend was willing to defy Camelot's—_his_—greatest law for a warlock—for a _servant._

He had to speak to him.

Merlin had to apologize and _explain.._. God, he had so much to tell him. And now he finally could.

Determination like no other gave him strength and courage, and without hesitation or qualm, Merlin reached for the paper again, something he could use to begin the fated conversation, and clutched it in his hand, racing blindly out of the king's chambers.

Merlin ignored the annoyed looks he got from people he rushed past; ignored the frustrated shouts of "_Slow down!"_ and didn't stop until Gwaine called out to him.

Perfect.

His breaths coming out in short pants, Merlin skidded to a stop in front of him and would have lost his balance if the knight's strong hands hadn't clapped down on his shoulders.

"Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Arthur," he panted, smiling. He didn't even know what or how to feel anymore. "Have you seen Arthur?"

Gwaine quirked his eyebrow. "Yeah, you just missed him. He said something about going to the Throne Room. He was acting a bit strange, too."

That made the warlock pause. Arthur had cleverly disguised his feelings all week? "Strange how?"

"Well, odd in the sense that he looked angry. Not his usual spoilt anger, though. He didn't go into details exactly when I asked. Just ran off. What did you do, Merlin?" Gwaine quipped.

Angry? At Merlin? No, surely not. He'd known for a week already.

Gwaine's hand squeezed his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. His friend's eyes were narrowed with concern and his lips were drawn into a frown. "Merlin, honestly, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Swallowing thickly, Merlin just shook his head, not even pondering what his actions would do. "No," he answered honestly, lifting his hand unconsciously and exposing the now crinkled paper. "Arthur. I need to talk to Arthur." And before Gwaine could question him further, he was off again, racing towards the Throne Room.

"For heaven's sakes, Merlin, slow down!" the knight protested behind him.

Merlin barely registered it, his mind repeating Arthur's written words in his head as he built his courage to speak to his friend.

"_You've hidden it... so well." _

"_I'll keep your secret, Merlin."_

"_I will wait until you tell me..."_

"_I know about your magic." _

"_...shaded with gold."_

And, finally, the one that gave him more boldness than anything else: "_You've always been my greatest friend." _

He yanked the Throne Room door open, ignoring the protesting hinges. But just as quickly, his heart froze. Instinctively, his magic bubbled within him just as Gwaine jogged to a stop behind him.

"God, Merlin, you can run," he huffed. "Must be a heckva piece of paper, that."

"_Shh."_

Maybe it was Merlin's tone, or the way his brows came together above hardened blue eyes, but Gwaine, surprisingly, didn't speak another word. The knight looked over his friend's shoulder, taken aback at what he saw.

It was morning. The sun was rising, the birds were chirping, people were waking...

So why did the Throne Room alone look like it was the dead of night? Sunlight should be streaming in through the multiple windows. Or at the very least, moonlight. But there was nothing but black. It was as if there were no windows there _at all. _ And why did Merlin suddenly feel sick to his stomach? Why was his magic jumping within him, itching to get out?

Flecks of dust caught in the light coming in through the open door glittered in the eerie, dead silence save for Merlin and Gwaine's own breath.

Cautiously, Merlin took a step in, keeping on hand on the thick door while the other kept the letter close. "Arthur?" His deep voice echoed round to room, and there was a moment's pause before he was answered.

"Oh, Merlin," the sultry voice began. "How nice of you to join us."

Gwaine's sword was already pulled from its sheath before Morgana stopped talking. She emerged out of the shadows, a cruel smile on her face; Merlin's heart sunk. He couldn't fight her. Not with...

"Gwen!"

The girl's breath hitched when Morgana pulled her with her, pressing the cold knife against Guinevere's very exposed throat for motivation. "Merlin, get out of here! You have to run!"

Morgana's emerald eyes narrowed, and her frown was replaced by the knowing smirk. "No, please, stay. We were just talking about you."

Out of the corner of his eye, movement sparked Merlin's defence, and he whipped his head towards the blond on his right. _Arthur. _

The king looked at him wide-eyed, his glazed orbs filled with the highest level of desperation that Merlin had ever seen. His eyes caught on the parchment in his hand, and Arthur's eyes narrowed as he locked onto Merlin's face, sending a silent question.

Nodding and swallowing hard against the lump of emotion in his throat, Merlin bit his lip hard. This isn't how it was supposed to go. This shouldn't be happening. He needed to talk with him, tell him everything. Or at least, most of it.

But there were more pressing matters. He sought out Arthur's mind amongst the group. He could feel all of their minds, like someone brushing against him, but he found Arthur's specifically and latched onto it. He felt Arthur's own emotions—fear, hope, anger, relief—brush against his own mind. Merlin pictured the words in his head, saying them off one by one. "_You cannot let her know that you know about me, Arthur. Please."_ The young king flinched, though the others didn't see it, and he knew that his message got through.

The warlock turned back to the intruder, glaring. "Morgana," he said strongly, "let her go."

She, however, completely ignored him; Morgana smiled pleasantly and her brows lowered almost tenderly. "Gwaine, dear, would you mind shutting the door behind you?"

The knight clenched his jaw, and when Morgana made a show of glinting the knife at Guinevere's very exposed throat, Gwaine looked at Arthur. He gave a small nod, and Merlin stepped forwards a few inches, allowing Gwaine to swing the door closed. Now, the room was cast in almost complete darkness, only the faintest green glow coming from what must have been her magic.

Arthur glanced at the warlock for barely a second before speaking bravely, "Let her go, Morgana."

Her eyes traveled to Merlin, however, and her lips pulled into an unamused frown. "You know, Merlin, for a bastard peasant, you do know how to keep your secrets." Now, Morgana smiled knowingly, letting out a small huff of laughter. "Oh, but this one... Merlin, you really are something."

"What the heck are you on about now?" Gwaine demanded, gripping the pommel of his sword tightly.

"_Magic, _Sir Knight," she grinned, eyes lit with a twisted excitement. "Or did you not know that your beloved friend was a sorcerer?"

"_Warlock,"_ Merlin snapped. Arthur already knew. Gwen and Gwaine, at least, knew him well enough to know he wasn't evil. He hoped. He was too nervous to look at them. "At least get it right."

"_Warlock,_ sorry," Morgana smiled, reaffirming her grip around Guinevere's shoulders. "You poor dear. Your servant could _level mountains_ with barely a glance if he so wished. Oh, yes, I'm going to have fun with this indeed."

Merlin could feel Guinevere's and Gwaine's eyes boring holes into him, but he couldn't—_couldn't_—deal with that right now. He kept his magic spread and at the surface, focusing on that and keeping his emotions in check. _I'm sorry, Gwen. I'm sorry, Gwaine. I'm so sorry. _"How did you know?"

Her smirk grew, and she didn't even bother glancing behind her as she beckoned, "Agravaine." As if a wraith, the lord stepped out from the shadows, his usual arrogant smile plastered on his face. His leather clothing shined green in the dim light, and his arms were folded confidently across his chest.

"Agravaine," Arthur spat vehemently. "I knew it."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes taunting. "Knew what, my lord?"

"That you were a traitor."

"And who told you? Your _fool _servant?"

Arthur stood a little straighter and clenched his jaw. "Merlin is no fool."

The young warlock's eyes snapped towards his friend. The confidence in Arthur's tone, the underlying brotherly love and defiance against the words his uncle has said... Did Arthur really already believe in him so much? Did he really trust him so?

Merlin's heart couldn't help but soften a little, despite the situation. Maybe everything would be okay after this. Just maybe.

"Hiding _magic_ in _Camelot _isn't foolish?" Morgana cooed. "Oh, dear, Arthur, you certainly have slipped."

Agravaine nodded curtly, looking towards the servant. "Once week ago, in a bandit attack in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, you jumped off your horse and made the pommel of a sword burn red hot, in effect saving the king's life. Very subtly, I might add. If I hadn't been looking at you, I would have missed it altogether. Commendable, really, the extent of your deception. "

Despite the sudden weight of self-loathing he felt at the reminder of his secrecy, the warlock only stared at Morgana with unadulterated hatred. It wasn't her place to come barging in and unveil his most guarded secrets. It wasn't her place, or Agravaine's, to put him through the same kind of self-hatred he put himself through everyday. "What do you want? Why've you come here?"

"Please, Emrys—"

"_What?" _

"Oh, dear. Emrys, you _really_ underestimate me, don't you? I'm not the naive girl you remember. I know all about you. The warlock of legend, hm?"

"What do you _want_, Morgana?" he repeated coldly. His magic lashed against its invisible boundaries, begging to be let out, to attack, but he pushed it down. For now.

"You know, I've been doing some digging, and I've learned a little about 'Emrys.' He is supposedly tied to the Once and Future King, his destiny. Together, they're meant to unite Albion and bring magic back to the land. Two sides of the same coin, they say. _Arthur_ is the Once and Future King. And _you _are Emrys. But I'm sure you know all of this, surely?"

"Morgana—"

"And then I started wondering, "What would happen if one side of the coin was smoldered?" she continued. "What if... What if one side of the coin was _killed_ by the other?"

Silence filled the chamber as everyone looked between the servant and king; Merlin and Arthur shared a glance of mutual anticipation and fear.

Arthur had accepted him for his magic. Mostly. They still had a lot of talking to do, probably a lot of fighting, but the warlock knew his king wasn't his father. He wouldn't put Merlin _to death_ for what he'd done.

The king took a small step forward, fists clenched at his sides. "I am _not _killing Merlin, Morgana."

"Of course not," she simpered cruelly. "He is your best friend, after all. Even if he does have _magic._ Even if you couldn't accept your own _sister._ No, Arthur, _he _is going to kill _you." _

Any sense of caution Merlin had felt melted away as rage burned within him. "_No!" _

As if a reminder, Morgana shuffled Gwen in front of her, repositioning the knife. "Well, Merlin, you obviously didn't trust him enough to keep your secret. And he's of no use now. Besides that, I'm afraid you have no choice, _Emrys." _

"He's accepted me, Morgana. He's willing to listen," he tried. "Don't you understand? This could be the change we need. The war could _end."_

"The war _will_ end, Emrys. _I_ will end it. _I _will be the one to restore magic to _my _kingdom_. Me. _You have no choice."

"I—" Terror colder than anything he'd ever felt coursed through Merlin's veins. His magic cried out. He couldn't kill Arthur. He couldn't. He was his king. His destiny. The other side of the coin. And he couldn't just let Guinevere die. She was his sister. His confidant. His friend. He had to... He had to...

"Morgana, _please..."_

"Oh, Emrys," she glared. "When I first learned of my magic, I asked you for help, _pleaded with you, _and you cast me aside! Look at you now, begging me..."

"I couldn't help you! Your magic was uncontrollable, even for me! You think I didn't _want _to help you? "

"Well, I can _certainly _control it now," she spat. "And if you do not do as I say, I will lay ruin to Camelot and Ealdor."

"And I'll stop you. I always have in the past, and I always will."

Morgana suddenly laughed. Dark humor laced her words. "I did not know your secret, then, Emrys. You think this knife is my only form or leverage against you?" She cast out her hand, keeping one against Gwen's throat as her eyes burned. An image entered into each of their minds, causing Merlin to wince and grab for his head as it pounded and throbbed. It was blurred, but the pile of clothing on a dirt floor quickly became clear.

Oh, no.

It was Hunith. Thick ropes bound her wrists, blood spotting the rope where her wrists had chaffed. She was covered in dirt from head to toe and a dark bruise covered most of her right eye. She wasn't moving, either. Hunith just sat there, lifeless against the cold stone wall. The only sign that she was still alive was the way her breast moved with her shallow breathing.

Tears of fury and fear burned the backs of Merlin's eyes before they snapped open, speckled with gold. The air itself seemed to radiate with the anger lighting his magic, and he took a brave step forward. "Morgana, you—"

"Now, now, Merlin, don't say anything you'll regret later."

"I could kill you, Morgana. Right here, right now. _Let. Them. Go._ This is between us."

She nodded, never taking her eyes off the trembling servant. "Oh, I well know of your powers, Emrys. But, see, I am no fool. There are men prepared to kill Hunith; I have men prepared to pillage Ealdor and several other villages within Camelot's borders. If I don't report back to them that all went to plan, then they are commanded to carry out those orders. Do not underestimate me, Merlin. I have a sizable army. How many would die for the sake of one man? Hundreds? Thousands?"

"And how many more would die if I allowed you to live?" he shouted breathlessly. "I should have killed you long ago."

"Emrys, please," Morgana continued. "Do not make this more difficult that it already will be. Your precious mother, sweet Guinevere, and hundreds of innocents will die if you do not obey me."

His breaths were coming in short gasps now, and he couldn't bring himself to care any longer how pathetic he looked. The life-changing note Arthur had written him fell from his hands. "Morgana, _please." _

"Do it."

The warlock's eyes whipped towards his best friend, stunned. His lungs seemed to stop and he wanted nothing more than to disappear. "Arthur, _no." _he whispered. "I can't—"

"You have to." His face betrayed no emotion. His voice spoke of his resolve.

Merlin's deep voice cracked, "I _can't."_

Arthur stepped towards him; Merlin stepped back. The king would never forget the amount of emotional pain in his friend's eyes. The distress coloring his usually cheery eyes. The need, the longing, to explain everything. The hundreds of apologies that were on the very brink of falling from his lips. Everything was so, so wrong. "Merlin, hundreds of people will _die. Do it." _

A hot tear fell, glittering against his delicate cheekbone. His whole body trembled. The warlock's eyes exposed more vulnerability than Merlin had ever allowed the king to see, pleading with him to change his mind. They both knew that Merlin would gladly do anything his friend asked of him, but this... It was unspeakable. It was a gross injustice that went against the very friendship both of them had built over the years. "_Arthur..." _

"Listen to him, Merlin. I'm afraid your mother doesn't have much longer."

The warlock barely glanced at her before locking his eyes on his best friend; his destiny. His sky colored eyes were soft with acceptance, and the brotherly affection there was almost too much for Merlin. Arthur had accepted him for who he was—magic and all—and now he was supposed to kill him? Hatred stronger than he'd ever felt burned within his gut, but that was nothing compared to the anguish that churned in his heart.

"Do it, Merlin," he repeated, softer. "It's alright."

The warlock shook his head. No, it wasn't. It never would be. Not now. Not ever. Why would Arthur ever believe that it could? He was giving him _permission _to kill him. Arthur was his best friend; the closest thing to a brother he would ever have. Forget destiny. This was _Arthur... _

But if he _didn't... _

Chest heaving, he forced himself to raise his shaking arm, palm facing his best friend. The words were already forming on his lips, and more shining tears fell from his dark eyes.

"It's okay."

His magic protested, but he pulled it up from within him, forcing it towards his palm as, crying, he muttered the words that would bring his friend's life to an end. The other side of the coin. Just as the last word slipped from his lip and his magic began to take physical shape, three more words fell heavily. "I'm so sorry."

Arthur simply shook his head, a small smile curving his lips, silently telling him that he had nothing to be sorry for. Ever. He didn't speak; he didn't yell when the glowing sphere of blue magic collided with his chest; he didn't scream when it spread over his body. Merlin, however, did.

As he watched his own wretched magic cover his friend's form, he screamed. A scream so loud, and so utterly heartbroken that even Morgana flinched at the inflation in his voice. When a cloud of smoke completely encased Arthur, the warlock fell to his knees, his tears falling freely from his glazed eyes. And when a stream of black dust settled on the ground where Arthur had once stood, Merlin wept, covering his face with his hands as uncontrollable sobs racked his body.

Almost immediately, Morgana pulled the knife away from Gwen's throat and pushed her into a stunned Gwaine, who caught her round the waist. Their eyes were locked on the small pile of ashes on the ground. Guinevere cried in Gwaine's arms, and a few hot tears fell from the knight's lashes.

Morgana slid the knife into a sheath somewhere within the folds of her dress, pulling out a silvery band and stepping hastily towards the warlock, and before he could do anything, she knelt down and clamped the band round his ankle.

At once, the warlock flinched, his cries choked as though Morgana had wrapped a noose round his neck. His hands struggled at his neck and his body convulsed at the pain lancing through his very soul. His eyes glossed over while he struggled to simply breathe, but within mere seconds, Merlin was lying limp on the floor, barely conscious.

Gwaine rushed to his side, falling to his knees beside the warlock just as he lost consciousness. He turned the young man's head to face him. The tear tracks beneath his eyes shined, and there was barely a breath of life escaping his parted lips. Even in his sleep, his face betrayed the pain he was in Guinevere came to Merlin's other side as the knight's eyes traveled down to the runes glowing on the metal band on his ankle. "What did you _do_ to him?" she screamed. "What is that?"

"Do not fear, he is still alive. I couldn't kill him just yet." She smiled down at them, her eyes lit with mad glee. "The fun's only just beginning."

And, for Morgana, this was true.

She was prepared indeed, and the hordes of men flooding Camelot from the underground tunnels was a testament to that. The lower town was taken in half and hour; the citadel didn't take much longer. They didn't have anyone to command them, after all. Leon tried, of course, but he couldn't be everywhere at once; there were too many men. By noon, the fighting was over; the palace was completely taken and everyone knew by whom. On Morgana's orders, the knights—Leon, Percival, and Elyan—were all stripped of their command and thrown into the dungeons until further notice. Gwaine, however, was laid out on Gaius's table, bleeding out from a severe head wound he'd received fighting Helios—Morgana's third in command. Guinevere was reduced to her old position as Morgana's personal maidservant once more. Gaius himself worked through the night to treat the wounded kept in the dungeons after sewing Gwaine's head and treating his wounds. His mind, though, was not on his patients—it was on his ward, who had been taken to the disused West Tower, still unconscious, and hadn't been heard from since.

Days passed, and Morgana's reign was solidified as the people learned that their beloved king was killed. How, though, was known only by a few. Anyone who outright challenged Morgana died; anyone who disobeyed was put in the dungeons.

It was horrible.

And it was only just the beginning.

* * *

Thank you for reading :)


	2. Breaking Point

Disclaimer: IDOM

Hello there! Firstly, I really want to thank all of you for your wonderful reviews. I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond, but rest assured that I do get them and I appreciate every one of them. They're super encouraging. Secondly, one of my goals for this story is not to have everything revealed right when I introduce a new idea, so the plot points will (hopefully) unfold between chapters. Hopefully.

Anyway, I don't have much time to talk, so thank you all again. Enjoy:

* * *

**Chapter 2: Breaking Point**

* * *

The clouds above Camelot that, finally, promised rain did nothing to lighten the depressed atmosphere. Guinevere's heart felt as heavy as the clouds holding in the coming storm, and she plucked at her sleeve as she looked anxiously out the wide glass window. Ebony clothed soldiers milled around a long line of citizens waiting for their morning rations, joking and laughing as the mass of citizens frowned with their shoulders hunched. Thankfully, she didn't see any children. The last thing those animals needed was a smart-mouthed child setting off the short-tempered soldiers. She saw Leon's strawberry blond curls standing beside the well, his black cape fluttering as the wind pulled on it.

"Guinevere," Morgana called.

The servant whipped round, her chocolate eyes finding the woman on the other side of the room. Her gaze settled on the thin leather string around Morgana's neck; her heart fluttered at just the sight of it, knowing what it held. What Morgana prided herself on. Guinevere swallowed thickly. "Yes, my lady?"

"Before you get the warlock his breakfast, be a dear and get me some water for washing, won't you?"

Guinevere bowed her head in respect, clasping her hands in front of her. "Of course, Your Majesty." After she'd turned her back, Gwen rushed from the wrongful-Queen's chambers. Once the door was closed firmly behind her, the girl collapsed against the stone wall, knowing that no one else was brave enough wander down this hallway to see her. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, grateful for a reason to be away from the woman who had caused her so much pain.

With shaking hands, she pushed herself away from the wall, forcing herself to continue down the hallway. She pulled a pail from a supply closet and clutched it in her hand as she hopped down the stairs. No one she passed was smiling genuinely. The guards were either straight and stoick or slouching and drunk. The servants gave her a polite smile in greeting, but it didn't reach any of their eyes. Gwen couldn't blame them.

The past three weeks certainly hadn't given them something to celebrate, after all.

The girl squinted her eyes as she stepped into the main courtyard. A place once filled with love and laughter now seemed paler and more depressing then ever before, even during Uther's reign. Gwen clenched her jaw as she saw the people of Camelot up close. Each of them were frowning, heads down in reluctant respect as the guards passed on either side of them. Guinevere saw several of whom she was close with, and knew that each of them had involuntarily lost weight. The rations that Morgana was allowing weren't enough to properly feed these people. And the water rations were barely enough to keep them healthy.

"Leon," she greeted.

The knight turned around immediately at the sound of her voice, and for the first time that morning, Guinevere saw a true smile ghosting his thin lips. "Gwen, how are you?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." She lifted her wooden bucket. "Morgana wants water to wash."

"Yes," he said dryly. "I'm sure she does." He gently took the pail from her, setting it at the well's base and drawing up the bucket already there.

Guinevere frowned knowingly. "How are you doing?"

After a moment, he shook his head. "Same as you, I suppose. Camelot grows weaker by the day. If only Arthur..."

"Yes," Gwen agreed, looking at her hands. "If only. What of the others?"

Sighing, Leon pulled the bucket of water towards him, letting the rope loosen as he tipped the water into Gwen's pail. "Elyan is handing out food rations and Percival, I believe, is helping unload supplies on the North end of the castle."

"And Gwaine?"

The knight pressed his lips together. "He's still in the dungeons. He wouldn't cooperate with Morgana to save his mother's life. I'm surprised he's still alive himself."

A smirk pulled on Gwen's lips. "I think Morgana is rather fond of his rebelliousness. She was much the same."

"Yes, I remember," he nodded

"Leon, have you been to see Gaius?"

His eyes hardened, and he nodded seriously. Just as he was handing her the now full pail of water, something slipped from his glove, and he pressed it into her open hand, careful that no one saw.

She smiled gratefully, her heart a little lighter. "Thank you," she said sincerely. Gwen turned to walk back to the castle, but Leon's voice pulled her back.

"Guinevere, one last thing: How is Merlin?"

Immediately, the girl's smile fell, and she turned back round, eyes pained. "He's not well," she answered gently.

The knight's head dropped a fraction, and he nodded sadly. "I understand. Thank you, Gwen."

Pursing her lips, she nodded back, continuing towards the main entrance. Her fingers stayed locked around the pail's cold handle all the way to Morgana's chambers, and by the time she got there, there was an angry red line across her fingers. She knocked briefly on the door before entering, making her way towards the deep bowl on her mistress's antique bureau. Voices came from the antechamber, but she focused on her task, eager to be gone once more. She poured the water from the bucket into the bowl, careful not to spill. Once she was finished, she set the bucket aside and straightened up the bed, making sure everything was the way Morgana like it before she made ready to leave.

Before she could, however, the door to the adjacent room opened, revealing Morgana and Agravaine discussing the usual business. Guinevere bowed. "My lady," she greeted. "My lord."

The lord smiled thinly at her. No matter how he smiled, he always looked like a snake. "Ah, Gwen, finished your chores?"

"Yes, I was just going to bring the warlock his breakfast."

Morgana nodded. "Good. On your way, then."

Guinevere straightened, glancing at her mistress and Arthur's traitorous uncle before picking the pail back up and walking towards the door. Oh, how she wished she could only say her friend's name in front of Morgana. "Merlin" or "Emrys," however, were not names you used in Morgana's presence. But Gwen would just to spite her. Clenching her jaw, Guinevere threw the bucket back into the supply closet, praying to God that it would grow mold and Morgana become fatally ill from infection, as unlikely as it was.

Slipping her hand into the pocket of her dress, Gwen's delicate fingers wrapped around the small vial as she picked up her pace. She walked into the kitchens, eyes immediately landing on the pitiful tray of food meant for her friend. All it consisted of was a small loaf of bread, some nuts, and a glass of water, which was actually more than usual. The girl took her hand out of her dress to grasp the tray with both hands, and left the kitchens before anyone could stop and question her on Merlin's health and why he was up there in the first place.

That was the only shred of gratitude Guinevere held for Morgana—she'd kept Merlin's secret. She hadn't told anyone of his magic, nor the truth of Arthur's death. Though, Gwen was sure that Morgana hadn't told anyone because then the people would understand that she'd been defeated time and time again by a lowly _servant._ She liked to keep her secrets, too.

Gwen's lips pressed into a hard line as she arrived at the stairway to the West Tower. A guard stood watch at the beginning of the spiral staircase, and Guinevere barely gave him a glance as she walked past him. She paced herself as she hopped up the steps, no matter how hard it was, knowing from experience that she'd be worn out at the top if she rushed herself now. The young woman kept her hands round the platter, balancing it as best she could, fearful for any spilled water. Her friend barely got enough as it was.

"Ah, Gwen," the guard at the top greeted. "Is it time already?"

She gave him a small smile, remembering the handful of times he'd allowed her to slip a little extra food to the warlock. "Morning. And yes." Gwen nodded at the door. "Could you?"

The guard stepped sideways, the keys jingling as he pulled them from his pocket. He picked out the right one and inserted it into the lock, and something in Guinevere's chest snapped, allowing her to breath better, just as the lock clicked open. She could barely hold herself back while she waited for him to open the door.

"Here you go," Myor said, taking a step in and holding the door for her.

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek, averting her eyes from the room until the guard stepped back out and locked the door behind him. She turned around. The tower was the same: the ceiling was lost in darkness, and the place generally smelled damp and wet. It was eerily silent, and the only light that came in was from a large open window set in about the center of the wall. She looked towards her friend. Though she'd tried to prepare herself, as per usual, it wasn't enough. Her heart sank to the floor and her breath caught, tears pushing against her eyes while she forced herself to carefully set the tray down. Once that was done, she rushed to her shaking friend and collapsed beside him, putting her hand on his delicate cheekbone as a sign of affection while she fixed the single blanket Morgana had allowed him to have. The light beard he'd grown since being imprisoned was soft against her skin.

He shifted against the dark-stoned wall he was leaning against, his dulled eyes cracking open with great effort. They were still a shockingly gorgeous shade of blue. At least that was the same. "Gwen?"

The girl brushed his dark hair behind his ear, allowing a tear to fall from her long lashes. "Yes, Merlin. It's me. I'm here." God, it felt good to talk to him, to hear his voice, no matter how strained it was.

Merlin sighed, leaning into her warm touch. "It's good to see you," he rasped.

Tenderly, she kissed his forehead. "You too. Let me get you some water." Slowly, she rose, so as not to alarm him, and walked towards the tray. Gwen picked it up and brought it over, setting it down beside her. With deft fingers, she pulled the vial from her dress and pulled off the cork, emptying the blue liquid into the clear water. She swirled the cup, mixing the potion before pressing it against Merlin's pale lips. "Slowly now."

Obediently, the warlock drank, his fingers rising to curl around the the cup. Gwen let him, smiling gently as she wiped her face. He didn't drink all of it, but that wasn't unusual. "Better?"

"A little."

"Good," she said, picking up the bread. "Now, you have to eat—"

"Gwen, I don't—"

"A_ little,"_ she interrupted. "For me. Please."

He sighed again, his lips drawing into a frown as he nodded. "Okay." Gwen gave him an encouraging smile, dipping the bread into the water to soften it. Merlin took the small piece, looking at it with something akin to disgust in his eyes. He took a bite, instantly feeling his stomach protesting as nauseous rushed through him and he choked.

Guinevere set her hand on his arm with alarm. "Merlin, are you alright? Drink some more water."

He shook his head, however, and pushed the cup away, keeping his hand fisted over his mouth until he swallowed it. "No, Gwen, I can't. It... I can't..." Tears suddenly began to build in his eyes, falling as perfect droplets from his dark lashes. "I'm sorry. I can't. I just can't. It hurts too much. I'm sorry."

Tears began to fall again from Gwen's eyes too, and she leaned forwards to embrace her friend. "It's okay, Merlin. It's alright. We can try again later."

He clung to her, allowing his sobs to overwhelm his slim form. "I'm sorry, Gwen. It's my fault. All of this is my fault. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

More words. Words that Guinevere heard everyday from him. Words that pained her so deeply that she allowed her own body to shake with anguish. It wasn't his fault. It was Morgana's and Morgana's alone, but there was no arguing with Merlin; there was no consoling him. Only Arthur would be able to do that.

Gwen tightened her hold on him, running her fingers through his hair comfortingly. "Just wait til Arthur gets here, Merlin. It'll all be alright."

"He's gone, Gwen. He's—It's been _three weeks." _

Immediately, the serving girl pulled back, stunned. "Merlin, _no_. Listen, you told me what you did—"

"And there's no guarantee it _worked_._ Three weeks_, Guinevere. I failed him. _Again._ He_ isn't_ coming back."

A fist closed around Gwen's lungs, squeezing and squeezing until it felt like she couldn't breathe. Merlin couldn't be losing hope. He couldn't. It was the only thing keeping him going. Arthur's return was the only thing he lived for now; his finale hope of release from this prison, from the glowing band locked round his ankle. If he lost that hope, Guinevere feared that he would fade further than he already had.

"Merlin..."

His breath hitched before he let out a strangled cry and his eyes clenched in pain. One hand travelled down towards his ankle, grabbing for the metal ring. His magic had flared, Gwen realised, as it often did when Arthur was mentioned.

"Merlin! Please, calm down."

"It hurts, Gwen," he cried, flinching. "It _hurts." _

She pulled him close again, trying not only to comfort him, but to draw his attention from the pain she knew was shooting relentlessly through him. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sorry."

Hinges squealed, and Gwen's attention was pulled back to the door as Myor stepped in. "Time's up, Guinevere."

The girl knew she couldn't argue. The time limit set by Morgana was non-negotiable, and if she learned that she'd stayed longer, or that Myor had let her stay longer, then she'd have both their heads. "Okay, just one second." She leaned close to Merlin once more, whispering in his ear. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I have to go. Arthur will come for you, I'm sure of it."

But the mantra "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was already falling from his lips. More tears fell from Gwen's eyes as her nostrils flared with grief. Merlin truly believed that his best friend—_his brother_—was dead. He had reached his breaking point.

"Oh my God," she whispered. She squeezed the warlock once more, knowing she had to leave before Morgana came looking for her. "I'm sorry, Merlin," Gwen offered, kissing him once more on his cheek. "I'll be back later, alright?"

She pulled back and stood, forcing her feet to lead her to the door. Gwen made the mistake of looking back, however, and saw her best friend folding in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest with grief. There was a soft muttering sound, and she knew that "I'm sorry" was still falling as heavy as iron from his lips. He was... God, he _looked... _

He was_ beyond_ his breaking point.

Guinevere ran down the steps faster than she ever had, allowing her tears to fall freely as she paused in the middle of the spiral staircase, at a place where the guard on either end couldn't see her. "Please, Arthur," she begged, snapping her eyes shut. "For him, Arthur. Please."

No one answered, however. No one gave her a sign. And that was when her hope, too, began to dim.

* * *

I hope you guys liked it! I've got quite a week ahead of me, but I'll try my best to reply to any reviews I get. Thank you for reading!


	3. Agony and Anguish

Disclaimer: IDOM

Okay, I am so, so sorry. I've been dealing with a lot lately and updating just slipped my mind. So it looks like there's not going to be weekly updates, but I'll do my best. This chapter is kinda jam packed so I hope it makes up for it. Major angst. ;)

In regards to last week's chapter, a guest reviewer asked me if this is a Merlin/Gwen pairing since Gwen seems more worried about Merlin than Arthur. And thank you for asking, guest, because I've kind of been expecting the question. Lol, no, this is not a Merlin/Gwen ship story, I promise. Personally, I can't ship them. They're too much like brother and sister to me, which is what I try to portray in my stories. The reason I write Guinevere so much more worried about Merlin than Arthur is because I believe that, given the twos history and the amount of trust and faith Gwen has put in Merlin before, she would trust that his plan (yes, there's a plan, but won't be discussed until about chapter five, sorry) went well. She believes Arthur to be alive and well, somewhere safe and away from Camelot. Merlin, however, is suffering before her eyes, and she's the only one able to take care of him. He's malnourished, dehydrated, is in constant pain because of the band, and is being tortured, and Gwen is only able to see him, to help him, for a few minutes a day. So naturally, Merlin would be her first priority. Again, thank you for the question!

Thank you guys for your patience. Enjoy:

* * *

**Chapter 3: Agony and Anguish**

* * *

Gwaine sighed as he leant his head against the familiar cold bars. The dirt crunched beneath his bare feet as he shifted and closed his eyes. Immediately, however, the image of Merlin, unconscious after choking on his own breath, flashed in his mind. The knight's eyes snapped back open and he groaned with frustration. How could he get a wink of sleep when his friend's pained face kept popping into his mind whenever he closed his eyes?

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered.

How was he doing now? He hadn't heard anything of him in the past few days, and what he'd heard from Gaius hadn't been promising. Gwaine quietly swore, clenching his fist at his side as he hit his head on the bars.

"Gwaine?"

The knight snapped his head to the side, using the bars of his cell to help him stand. The hinges protested as the guard let Guinevere into the cell, and neither of them spoke until he was out of earshot. She set the tray she was holding down and rushed to embrace her friend, sniffing. Gwaine pulled her close, seeing the unshed tears in her dark eyes.

"Gwen, what's wrong? Is it Merlin?"

She pulled back, nodding as she trembled. "He's not going to last much longer, Gwaine. He's—he's lost _hope."_

"But Arthur—"

"—isn't here yet. Merlin truly thinks he's killed his best friend. And his _mother._.. She's... Morgana won't even tell him if she's still living. Hunith could be dead and Morgana still wouldn't tell Merlin, just to see him suffer," she spat angrily. "It's torture is what it is. I have never hated someone so much in my life. And Merlin... He's—He's _slipping, _Gwaine. He's at his breaking point, and she's going to push him off the deep end."

Heart pounding with fear within his chest, Gwaine pulled her close again. "Now, listen. He'll be alright, Gwen. We'll get him out of this. Have you spoken to Leon any more about it?"

"Not really," she admitted. "We don't exactly have time to chat anymore."

The knight nodded with understanding. "Speak to Gaius about increasing the medication. That'll give Merlin some strength until we have everything sorted. He's strong, Gwen, stronger than any of us."

"Not with that band around his ankle. His magic is useless. It's going to kill him if Morgana doesn't, no matter what we do."

"Then let's get to work," Gwaine said firmly, pulling back. "Try to talk to Leon sometime today, if you can. Gaius, too. If Arthur really isn't coming, and if Merlin really_ did_... then we're on our own; we need to be ready."

She nodded, biting her lip. "I'll try."

"Can you get the key?"

"No," she admitted painfully. "Morgana keeps it on her at all times. Even when she sleeps."

Gwaine nodded. "Alright. We'll just have to figure another way to get the band off. First thing's first: We have go get him out of Camelot. You should go. Morgana'll get suspicious if you stay too long."

Reluctantly, Gwen bobbed her head, turning for the door. "I'll talk to you later, Gwaine."

"See you."

Gathering her courage, Guinevere left. She had things to do.

* * *

The shutters were pushed open by a maidservant that Morgana wasn't familiar with as she and Agravaine entered the main hallway. Hazy light streamed in, and Morgana squinted until her eyes adjusted.

"And the people are growing consistantly restless," the lord continued. "I suggest we increase the food portions, as a show of goodwill."

Morgana glanced at him, nodding as her eyes caught on his oily hair. "Inform Leon of the changes. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to comply."

"Also, Morgana, the people are concerned for their children. Fall is coming, and the people are frightened of sickness."

"Well," the wrongful-Queen said, "have Guinevere inform Gaius that we are resupplying his stocks. Assign her to work with him, aside from her primary duties with me, of course, to help."

"Yes, my lady," Agravaine smiled.

"Will that be all, then?"

When the lord gave her a small nod, she hastened her pace down the hallway, feeling something strange stirring in her heart from when Agravaine had mentioned the parent's worry.

Her right-hand, however, slowed. "Morgana?"

She didn't stop; she didn't look back. "I have someone to see."

* * *

Morgana's heels clicked against the stone floor and her hips swayed rhythmically with every step. Her silky black curls bounced on her shoulders, and her dark dress hugged her figure in all the right places. Years ago, men would have given anything to have her. They tried, too, but Morgana hadn't wanted their offerings. She was a very modern woman, and had decided as a child that she would marry who she wished; who she was in love with.

Gorlois had agreed with her, only adding that he had to approve of the man before she married him. Laughing, she told him that was alright because she wouldn't marry anyone he disapproved of, and that boys were still stupid, snot nosed wanna-be's anyway. She'd had time enough to wait.

Until Gorlois was killed.

Remorse touched Morgana's dark heart, an unusual feeling for her. Her brow furrowed as her footsteps slowed, and she blinked before clearing the feeling from her being. Love. That was something else she wasn't accustomed to anymore.

Maybe that was the reason she'd changed, too.

After Gorlois died, Uther had taken her in. It was amazing, really, how different the two were. Gorlois had tucked her in himself, kissed her goodnight, and hugged her when she cried. Uther, however, had her nursemaids put her to bed. They were kind, of course, they tried, but one could only be so careful with someone Uther had taken in. Morgana understood, now that she was older. The nurses didn't kiss her goodnight; they didn't embrace her when she cried. Neither did Uther. That was left to Guinevere.

Maybe if things had been different, Gwen could be fully trusted again. But not now. They were friends, once, sisters almost. That was impossible now, though. After all that Morgana had done, even she knew there was no going back.

She passed the guard on her left, not sparing him a glance as she began climbing the stairs. Her fingers found the leather string around her neck, and she pulled on it, bringing a small skeleton key out from her dress. It was still warm from where it had been resting on her breast and she smiled as her fingers curled around it.

She knew just the thing to cheer herself up.

The guard at the top of the steps bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Open the door," she commanded shortly.

He nodded. "Of course." Myor pulled out the proper key and unlocked the heavy wood, pushing it open for her.

Once Morgana was inside, she told him, "Wait at the bottom of the stairs."

"Yes, my lady."

He pulled the door shut behind him, and a satisfied smirk crawled onto the woman's lips as she heard his footsteps departing. Helios's-_-her-_men were so easily controlled. Give them promises of warm food and riches and they would lick her floor clean if she so wished. Morgana wasn't here to evaluate mercenaries, however. She was here for a servant.

A warlock.

Morgana turned around, eyes lighting with mad glee when she saw her once-friend slouching, shivering against the cold stone. "Hello, Emrys," she greeted. There were several beats of dead silence, and Morgana briefly wondered how the servant could stand such quiet. After a few more moments, he was still unresponsive, and, anger flaring, Morgana cast her hand out towards the silver band, muttering a spell.

Merlin woke up with a strangled yelp, flinching violently as he grabbed for his right leg. His breathing was heavy and quick, and it took him a few moments to gather himself.

"There you are," Morgana simpered.

The warlock's eyes shot up, a striking blue against his dirtied face. "Leave me be, Morgana. Haven't you done enough?"

She smiled cruelly, lifting her chin. "Remember your place, warlock. You only live because I will it."

"Then kill me."

Quirking her eyebrow, Morgana studied the servant in the dim light, taking in his shoddy clothing and bare feet. "You really do not want to live, do you, Emrys?"

After a heartbeat, Merlin sighed, looking away from his tormentor as pain racked his heart. "Death would be a blessing."

Merlin's eyes traveled down towards the crumpled parchment that had begun the downward spiral. It was from that paper that Merlin learned the truth; it was that paper that had caused Morgana so much rage the first few days. Naturally, she took her anger out on Merlin, teasing and taunting him and even going so far as to send electric shocks up his spine, causing him to writhe and jerk with pain, which Morgana only relished seeing. After she brooded for a few days, however, she found comfort in the fact that her half-brother was dead, so there was no changing things now.

"Because you killed Arthur?" she supplied.

The warlock's fist tightened. _"You_ killed him, Morgana."

She blinked slowly, a taunting smile on her blood-red lips. "You killed him, Merlin. It was your magic; your hand. You murdered your own best friend."

"No!" he protested. "I didn't. _I didn't..."_

"You killed him, Merlin. He died."

His face began to crumple and he involuntarily curled in on himself as tears beaded on his lower lid. "I didn't!"

"You did," Morgana said gently, her smile softening. Now, she looked like a mother comforting her child: her shoulders were relaxed, her lips were drawn into a sympathetic frown, and her eyebrows were furrowed. Her eyes, however, were alight with the utmost cruelty and mad pleasure. "You killed him, Merlin. You killed your best friend."

"No," the warlock protested weakly. "I _didn't_. I _didn't._ I _didn't." _

The woman smiled again, letting out a small laugh of glee. "Oh, Merlin, what would Hunith think of you now? Whimpering on the ground like a spoilt child."

Merlin's head snapped up in a stolen moment of clarity, his eyes burning with rage. "And what would Gorlois think of _you?" _he snapped. "He'd be turning in his grave."

He regretted the words as soon as the last syllable dropped from his tongue, and his eyes widened in terror as Morgana's face warped into a raged sneer. The servant already knew what was coming. He weakly tried to scoot away from the vengeful woman when she cast out her hand, already yelling spells that would make fire swarm through his body.

Merlin wasn't disappointed.

Agony spread through his whole being, inside and out, like white-hot knives carving delicately, _passionately,_ into his heart and soul.

All he knew was pain and anguish.

Merlin's vision was gone; his once beautiful blue eyes unfocused and hazy with distress, and all he could see were flashes of black and white with each new throbbing spasm. His head pounded, and briefly, the servant thought it would burst-his pain receptors overwhelmed by the level of torment he was forced to undergo. Tears streamed down his fever-flushed face while he pulled relentlessly on his dark hair, trying to dispel the grief and suffering coursing through his fiery being. The only sounds he could hear were his own tortured screams, one after the other, giving him barely enough time to draw a burning breath before a new wave of misery washed through his violently shaking body.

No one would hear him, though. Morgana had made sure of that when she soundproofed the tower for exactly this purpose.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled. "I'm sorry! Please, make it stop! _I'm sorry!"_

And it did.

Merlin heard laughter above him and the sound of a screeching hinge. Once Morgana was gone, he wept: for everything that once was, for all that was happening, and for everything that was no longer fated to be. Morgana had been right. He'd ruined everything. It was his fault Arthur was dead, his fault his mother was probably dead, and his fault that all of Camelot was suffering. It was his fault that Albion would never exist.

It was his fault that _he_ was suffering.

His body throbbed and ached, but that didn't stop the grieving warlock from curling in on himself on the floor, ignoring the many cuts and scratches and bruises on his body while he hugged his knees to his chest.

It was all his fault.

Everything.

Sobs like wails bubbled past his lips and his spine ached from his awkward position, but Merlin didn't move.

It was all his fault, after all.

Why should he be happy if no one else was?

He could have killed Morgana. He _should _have killed Morgana. He'd had dozens of chances. Hundreds, even. Everytime he'd been in her company he could have-_should have.._.

"It's all my fault," he whispered brokenly. "All of it. All of it. All of it. Oh, God, Arthur, I'm _so sorry. _I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It's my fault. All my fault. I'm _sorry._ I'm _so sorry."_

Another ghosted pain jolted through him, a reminder of his torture, and the exhaustion coursing through his system seemed to triple. Merlin shuttered at the nightmares he knew were sure to come, and he clutched his hands to his chest, resting on his side. Pulling his knees up tight, the servant rested his forehead on them just as his breathing evened and swallowed, gritting his teeth against the ghost pains that echoed through his being.

His glossy eyes landed on the folded parchment lying only a few feet away from him, and he briefly recalled when Morgana had tauntingly thrown it in his face, cruelly reminding him of what_ he'd done _that day.

With his last breath, Merlin's quivering lips formed the words "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry. I failed."

* * *

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Have a good night!


	4. Author's Note

Hello, guys!

I know it's been a while. I'm sorry. I'm horrible. I'm sorry I left this for so long and with such a horrible cliffhanger. Good news, though! I want to try to finish it. Ideally, I'd like to finish the sequel to RM, but I haven't properly written for so long that I feel like this is a good way to get back into it. I need to find my writing style again. I might put chapters of the RM sequel up, or even just one-shots, but I want to try so bad. I've been going through a lot in my life recently, oh so much, and writing has always been a great way to escape that. So I want to get back into it again. Even if updates are few and in between, I want to try. I have quite a few of these chapters already written in my Google Drive, but I want to rewrite them. It's got a good structure, but there were too many holes that need filling. I hope you guys will be patient with me through this. I've already reworked and reposted the first chapter of this, so it should be up. I was overall very happy with how that chapter was written, it just needed some tweaking. The following chapters, however, you'll be able to tell the difference. I hope. Thank you all again.

Sincerely your errant author,

carinims01


End file.
